Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1887-12-07
A BLACK BAG.
The Story Of a Maine Yankee and
Professional Sharper.

There were half q dozen Of US, and we
were killing time in a comfortable enough
hotel in little village not far from Brattle-
boro. Vt. It was wretched night late In
November, with high, raw wind and pit
:less rain. The sort Of night on which,
according to Tom Hood, kind hearted
farmer in pure pity would take in his scare
crow. The members of the company were
strangers to one another, thrown together
by the chance of travel. But they all
seemed socially inclined, and as they sat
around the big fire that blazed on the ample
hearth of the bap1 DOM, each one OF them
contributed something more or less inter-
esting to the conversation. All except q
tall, thin, loose ointed fellow who sat with
his hands deep in his trousers, pockets, ap-
parently given over to meditation. At
length. however, something was said which
aroused him.
IT got one of them confidence teuer's
cirklars to-day" remarked q big, jolly
drover. tit came to Ike Bivvins, and Ike
he allowed that he didn't have no use for it
and tossed. it over ter me. The cuss writes
his eirk,lar mighty cunnin'. Just listen to
him. With that the drover produced the
circular from one of his pockets and read it
aloud. It was the familiar tempting bait
for ever+confding gudgeons. The writer
remarked that the man whom he was ad-
dressing had been mentioned to him as q
person who knew good chance to make
money when he saw it, and who also knew
how to keep his mouth shut and do business
on the quiet. Did the man want to buy
some s'green goods" so we'll executed as
absolutely to defy detect1on2 II so, it would
be worth his while to run down to Boston
and see the writer who would treat him
fair and square and put him in the way OF
making his fortune. When the drover had
advanced thus far In his reading the tall
fellow referred to broke in with q low, rich
chucAle. The, drover instantly turned to
him with the query: 'sHev you been thar,
strangely" =. ~.
20, go on with your reading" answered
the other,: shaking with laughter a he
spoke.
The rest.of us pricked up our ears with
pleasurable anticipation, while the drover
rejoined, replacing the circular in his peck
ct: 20, this paper amt Of no particular &C
count, let's have your story" The tall man
hesitated, gazed straight ahead on line
with the top OF his boots as it inquiring Of
the fire whether or not he should unbosom
himself Apparently the fire seconded the
drover's request, for after q little, burying
his hands still deeper in his pockets and
with his eyes fixed 80 intently upon the
blazing logs before him as to produce the
impression Of one talking to himself, he un-
folded to us this tale about ~ I reproduce it.
H.
Gentlemen, I'm almost fifty years old.
What tell you happened more than q
quarter of century back; in fact, when
was still q youngster. Perhaps some of
the rest OF you once had Wild oats that you
were foolish enough to sow. The worst
use you can put wild oats tots to sow them.
But that's neither here nor there. l got
one Of these "green goods" circulars, so
called, in the summer OF 1885, I was then
living in Maine. Itcame to me from Boston
by mail. Well, was STRIPPING, inexperi-
enced, greener than grass, reckless and
tolerably fond Of money. The circular ap-
pealed to my cupidity, and determined to
slip down to Boston and see what the green
goods were like. I had 81, 600 in bank in
Augusta, a legacy from an aunt, and drew
ont 81 900 before / left Maine, determined
nthe counterfeits were frstclass TO invest
all Of it in them. OF course was an ass,
and something worse-but let that pass
! The circular said when got to Boston 1
& was to 90 to certain saloon in the south
end Of the town and inquire for Samuel
Hall, and that to prevent any mistake in
regard to,Who was who, on meeting Samuel
B was to return to him the circular in the
! envelope in which it came. obeyed these
. directions and had little did1culty in finding
Samuel. He wore patent leather boots and
q plug hat with Grape half way to it's top
I remember thinking he must have lately
lost . relative, end thstjt was little rough